


Before the Snow Clears

by viciouswishes



Category: Grey's Anatomy, House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3076040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciouswishes/pseuds/viciouswishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bailey sits on her ass in Terminal B, staring at an animatronic ruddy-nosed reindeer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Snow Clears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shakegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shakegirl).



> Setting: Pre-series

The airport p.a. system once again announces that all flights out of the Logan International Airport have been grounded due to snow flurries. Bailey was at a medical conference. A good medical conference where she'd learned a lot and could put another notch on her resume -- even if they'd declined her paper this year. So she sits on her ass in Terminal B, staring at an animatronic ruddy-nosed reindeer. Bailey needs to call Tucker to let him know that her flight is delayed. But she at least has some time before she needs to dial him.

Not just yet.

First, Bailey's hungry and she needs to make the decision between McDonalds or Sbarro. Lots of calories, but grease can be comforting. Or maybe she'll be adventurous and try a real restaurant and order a deep, red wine. Yes, she could use a drink even if she's going to be paying through the nose for it.

Of course, a nice dinner means calling Tucker now. The dinner, her reward. Bailey's a big believer in self-rewarding, in allowing herself a little joy in a task well-accomplished. Or in this case, just plain accomplished.

Tucker answers on the first ring, just like he always does. "I have some bad news," Bailey says, "there's a storm. My flight -- all flights -- have been delayed until further notice." She gives him the diagnoses, straight-up, and leaves it to Tucker to bring in the emotion. She frowns. "Yes, I know I promised to be home in time. No, no, I can't control the weather. The conference is part of my career. I understand. I don't want to miss Christmas with your family either. Yes, I know it's important to you and your mother. Tucker, I'll be home as soon as I can. I'm going to get some dinner so I'll talk to you later. Love you too."

"Don't you just love the holidays," says a man with a cane, moving toward her. "They just put a little twinkle in your eye and a hop in your step. Oh, wait, I can't properly hop. Cripple."

Bailey recognizes him from the conference, Dr. Gregory House, a famous diagnostician. Also famous for being a pain in the ass. But somehow, Bailey finds herself seated across from him at the Bonfire and thumbing through a dinner menu. They're already ordered drinks.

"I was thinking about the swordfish. Think they leave the pointy nose in?" House asks. "Or perhaps the 1 lb. burger. That's a lot of meat."

"Making up for something?" Bailey keeps her face straight and takes a sip of her wine. She's spend enough time in the white man's world to know how to play these games. Because that's really all this is.

"You know, I think I like you, Dr. Bailey. Ever consider moving to New Jersey? It's really not as bad as people say." House pauses so they can order and once the waiter's gone, he's picking up where he left off. "And if you're worried about moving on up, you can just tell people you live next door to Jon Stewart."

"I like my life just fine. Thank you, Doctor." Bailey thinks about her warm house in Seattle; she'd like to be wrapped in her large bathrobe and slipping on her ratty pink slippers to wait for the bathtub to fill. House fidgets in his seat. She must be boring him. Darn.

House breaks off a piece of bread. "Can't be all that happy from the conversation I overheard."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Soothing your husband. Or at least I assume it was your husband and not Dr. Bailey Jr. You aren't one of those women who's a mommy and a career woman? You know, that can seriously dement a child."

Bailey's always known that one day she'll have children. Just now isn't the right time. Another complaint of Tucker's. "Your mother worked?"

"Nope." House polishes off his bread. "My mommy stayed home and breast fed me until I was five. All the other kids in kindergarten were jealous of her boobies."

For the fourteen thousandth time, Bailey ignores the urge to roll her eyes at him. "I don't believe that my decision to have children or not have children has any reflection on my career."

"Unless their mother is stuck in an airport across the country this close to Christmas."

At least this holiday, Bailey will be adsorbed from the guilt of missing her non-existent children. "How do you know I celebrate Christmas?"

"This is America. Even my best friend, who's Jewish, comes over for my annual get drunk, stare at the pretty lights on the tree, and sing carols by the great poets. You know, Jagger, Lennon, Townshend, and Cohen." House's fingers move across the table in way that ones those who play the piano do. Bailey should know. The old woman down the street gave Bailey lessons twice a week at the rate of $5 and a warm meal a session. This was until her mother decided she'd never be a pianist prodigy. "We've moving away from the Big G, even if our president still talks to him," House adds. "The idea of hell fire just isn't as marketable as it once was."

Bailey doesn't know herself; she's always kept faith that something, somewhere out there is watching down on her. And if it meant that she only graces the pews on Christmas Eve and Easter, so be it. What she does know is she's not in a mood to argue and if she longed for conversations like these, she would've majored in philosophy or become a pastor. "I'd settle for something more personal. Smaller. Less flashy," Bailey finally says.

"The flash draws your eye. I always enjoy putting a bigger Santa on my roof than the next guy. Spelling out 'World Peace' in large neon letters so the real Santa knows where to land. I wouldn't want to miss my chance at another lump of the North Pole's premium coal. Goes for insane prices on eBay."

Bailey laughs as the airport p.a. announces the snow's been cleared and they'll be posting new flight schedules momentarily.


End file.
